


What you want me to be

by jijal



Category: BTOB
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-01-11 17:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18429197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jijal/pseuds/jijal
Summary: A compilation of unrelated drabble requests/prompts.





	1. Hold me tight (I'm falling to pieces)

"Do you want me to leave?” Sungjae asks from where he’s standing at the door, fingers still wrapped around the door handle and ready for Changsub to hiss at him to get lost, _leave me alone, I’m tired_ — which he would, he  _would_  had he not been stupid enough to ruin the first weekend with his mother in a long while and been forced to leave without hugging her goodbye, without promising he’ll look after himself and call her if he needs something.

He would, but he doesn’t have it in him tonight.

“No,” he mumbles, and even quieter, "Come here.”

He pats the spot next to him and a hint of confusion flickers across Sungjae’s face, and he steps inside, the smallest bit of hesitation as he closes the door behind him and walks over to Changsub’s bed, sitting down next to him, back against the wall.

“Where are the others?” Changsub asks, eager to not let Sungjae comment on his dramatic entrance to the dorm, the way he stormed right past him, dozing off on the couch in the living room in front of the television, startling both him and Sami lying on top of him, sprawled out across his chest, out of their sleepy haze and disappearing into his bedroom without losing a word.

"Eunkwang hyung is at rehearsals and Hyunsik hyung’s in the studio. Ilhoon hyung might be there, too.”

Changsub hums back in his throat and rests his head on Sungjae's shoulder.

“Why are you home?”

"Seunggi hyung is sick. Filming got cancelled,” Sungjae says and turns his head to look at Changsub, silently scanning his face. He clasps his hand, and Changsub lets him.

“Why are you shaking?”

"I'm just. In a bad mood.”

“You’re shaking because you’re…,“ Sungjae starts to repeat the silly, laughable excuse back at him, but trails off, thinks better of it and lets out a heavy breath instead. He takes Changsub’s other hand into his as well, warm and more gentle this time, as if he was scared he could crush him into a million pieces, like a doll made out of porcelain. “Did something happen?”

Changsub hates the change in his voice, worried, alarmed almost, and he’d rather Sungjae would mock him, not notice that Changsub is bloody and beaten and not in the right state of mind for a round of stupid, meaningless bickering. Sungjae’s grip is loose, giving space to breathe and for Changsub pull back his hand if he wanted to, if he had the strength to, but the dorm is quiet, void of life, and he has no more room to hide and nothing else to distract him from the memories from a few hours ago, still nagging at his conscious. Sungjae runs his thumb over the back of Changsub’s hand, again and again and again, his touch soft, calming, and tears building up in Changsub’s eyes, blurring his vision and impossible to swallow back down.

“Hyung, talk to me. Don’t keep everything bottled up.”

Changsub opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, the mere thought of having to put just a fraction of his feelings into words having his throat close up, and it all comes crashing down on him, the disappointed look in his mother's eyes, the way her face dropped as soon as the clumsy words tumbled past his lips, out of his control, it’s too much, too much to keep locked away in the darkest corner of his mind any longer. She didn't want to believe it, couldn’t wrap her head around the possibility that  _her son_ — and Changsub had nothing to say in his defence, nothing to say to calm her down. A sob erupts from his throat and he presses his face into Sungjae’s shoulder.

“I can’t,” he brings out, his voice breaking and his chin quivering like a little child's, hot tears spilling from his eyes and drenching Sungjae's T-shirt.

“Okay,” Sungjae says, softly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

His words send a tremor through Changsub’s body, and Sungjae puts an arm around his trembling shoulders, pulling him close and Changsub’s face getting squished against his neck, warm, strong and wet with tears a second later. Resting his head against Changsub’s, Sungjae buries his nose in his hair and Changsub’s body goes slack, any strength he had left drained from his muscles and a whimper escaping his throat; he lets go, lets himself crumble in Sungjae’s arms and Sungjae holds him through it.


	2. Something else to focus on

“I’m hot.”

Drops of sweat running down his temples, his neck, and soaking the collar of his T-shirt, Ilhoon wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand, grimacing at the feeling, and his skin hot to the touch under the bright, burning sun. He’s never wanted to shower this bad in his life.

“My legs hurt.”

His muscles are burning and his breath coming in pants, the air getting thinner and thinner with every step they take towards the top.

"Quit whining,” comes the snappish response, Changsub having learned to ignore Ilhoon’s antics and not stop for him every five minutes anymore.

“Hyung,” Ilhoon groans, for the approximately hundredth time, and Changsub ignores him, keeping up his brutal pace and leaving Ilhoon with no choice but to follow. He grits his teeth, boring holes into Changsub's back and suppresses the urge to cuss at himself for one, agreeing to Changsub's stupid bet and two, losing said bet, because if he hadn’t, Ilhoon would be the one with the liberty to take Changsub anywhere he wanted and not the other way around. If only he had had control over his addicted, nicotine infested brain and his quick, slender fingers, fishing for a cigarette to go for a smoke out the bedroom window in hopes that Changsub wouldn't catch him.

Needless to say, he did.

It almost feels too good to be true, Changsub finally, fucking  _finally_ , coming to a halt a few metres in front of Ilhoon and dropping his backpack on the ground.

"And now what," Ilhoon snarls once he’s caught up with him, and Changsub, once again, ignores him and crouches down, wrestling with the picnic blanket to get it out of the bag and stretching it out over the grass. He sits down with a happy, relieved sigh and looks up at Ilhoon, one eye squinched shut like the cutest, worst boyfriend to walk this earth and pats the spot next to him. If Ilhoon had any strength or willpower left in him, he’d turn around and leave, after everything Changsub put him through, he won’t pretend a shitty picnic is worth the one hour hike, but Ilhoon has yet to catch his breath and his legs are still shaking from exhaustion, and he isn't sure he'd make it back home without collapsing. He begrudgingly obeys and plumps down onto the blanket.

"Isn't this nice?” Changsub asks, directed at the clear, blue skies, leaning back and propping himself up on his hands, but Ilhoon pays him no mind, wordlessly grabbing the bag, and only one thing on his mind.

“Nicotine,” he mutters, cramming for his pack of cigarettes, and Changsub clicks his tongue.

“Don’t bother,” he says. “You think I’ll let you smoke just because you lost the bet?"

Ilhoon groans, tossing the bag to the ground in annoyance and resting his face in his hands. His blunt nails digging into his skin, he fights the urge to rip out his hair one by one at the thought of Changsub taking the cigarettes out of the bag without him noticing.

Changsub tugs at Ilhoon’s T-shirt, lying down on his side, propped up on his elbow and nodding at the spot next to him, signalling him to lie down as well, but Ilhoon just rolls his eyes at him and turns back around.

“Fuck you—”

A strong arm wraps around Ilhoon’s waist, cutting him off and pulling him down onto the ground against his will. Ilhoon tries to parry him off, but Changsub is strong and his skin pressed against Ilhoon’s soothing, giving him something to focus on that isn’t his cravings or his bad mood.

“At least try to enjoy this,” Changsub says, right into the skin behind Ilhoon’s ear. “Please.”

Ilhoon lets out a defeated sigh and reluctantly forces himself to relax in Changsub’s arms. Today is about _them_ , after all, and no matter how much he resents Changsub’s idea, he shouldn’t actually ruin this for the two of them. His eyes flutter shut, Changsub placing a kiss to his temple and, for the first time, Ilhoon notices the leaves rustling in the wind, a handful of birds chirping in the distance, and Changsub’s even breaths behind him, matching the steady rise and fall of his chest against Ilhoon’s back. They haven’t had a minute to themselves in a long time, he thinks, trapped by excruciatingly long after hours and any time they did have together ruined by stupid, pointless bickering. The sun warming his skin, and the fresh clean air cleansing his lungs, he realises how much he missed it, _Changsub_ , and gets to push anything else away. Nothing matters but this, _them_ , right now, so far from their small, stuffy apartment, swallowed up by traffic and millions of people hasting through life, day in and day out. Here, Ilhoon can breathe. In their own little world, just for the two of them.

He tilts his head back, Changsub humming deep in his throat and his lips meeting Ilhoon’s in a soft kiss, cupping his jaw and pulling him impossibly closer, and Ilhoon lets himself get lost in it.


	3. You and me (against the world)

Thirty-something days since the world has gone to shit, communication between the two of them is still at a minimum. And Changsub wouldn’t mind keeping things that way, because Sungjae, being the most stuck up and arrogant person he has had the pleasure of meeting, is somewhat of an asshole, that Changsub learned to avoid pretty quickly after meeting him for the first time. A life time ago, that was.

Sungjae, Yook Sungjae out of all people, was about the last person Changsub wanted to get stuck with, but, as he came to realise, he didn’t have much of a choice; his options were limited — it was Sungjae, or no one. Guaranteed death within a week. And although Changsub sometimes questions his decision to stay with him, whether death would have been preferable over spending the rest of his life with Sungjae, who doesn’t smile and doesn’t give anything beyond one-syllable answers if he doesn’t have to, in the ashes of what they once took for granted, somewhere deep inside of him, Changsub is glad to have him. Sungjae being his only constant form of human interaction, Changsub clings onto him more than he'd like to admit. Because he  _hates_  him, but he's also everything he has.

Besides, Sungjae is tall, and pretty strong, too, and proved himself useful within the first few days: He had some useful tricks up his sleeve, that Changsub can’t for the life of him figure out where he’d got them from. Of course, he didn’t  _teach_  Changsub, just did it while Changsub watched in silence next to him, but it was enough for Changsub to not ditch his arrogant ass the first day. He did hope, still kind of does, that Sungjae will warm up to him, or for lightning to strike him and magically turn him into the open and friendly person Changsub wishes he was, but hope is dwindling with each passing day of them getting up in the morning, checking their food and weapons and a short, not longer than necessary conversation about their plans for the day over breakfast. They usually go their separate ways from there, and Changsub doesn't see him until he returns to their shelter in the evening, lives his day in uncertainty whether Sungjae is still alive or not. His heart skips a beat, just a little bit, every time his annoying face pops in the door to let Changsub know he made it back in one piece. Not that he cares.

Some nights, one of them feels brave enough to get out a bottle of alcohol from the little fridge they found in the basement when they first raided the house and claimed it theirs. They’ll share half of it, sit together and feed each other bits of information about themselves, their past, and Changsub will almost enjoy it — he would, if it wasn’t for the fact that it means nothing, they always go back to their old routine the next morning. As if nothing changed.  _Because_  nothing changed, in the end.

For some very odd reason, alcohol is one of the few things that still manages to give Changsub a sense of normality, whether it’s the familiar taste and the memories coming up as soon as it trickles down his throat, or just the effect it has on the body — it doesn’t matter. Sometimes, drinking in the evening is the only thing to look forward to, gives Changsub something that will make living another day bearable, and an excuse to plump down onto the couch next to Sungjae. The bottle of soju in one hand while screwing the lid off with the other, he lets out a deep sigh and sinks back against the worn-down cushions. Sungjae doesn't bother to look up, or acknowledge Changsub’s existence in any other form, and continues to stare at his hands in his lap.

"What are you thinking about?" Changsub asks from his end of the sofa.

"Us. My family. The future,” Sungjae mumbles. “And sex."

Changsub snorts, and Sungjae opens his mouth, to explain himself, or add to his list, but he closes it as fast he’d opened it.

“You have a girlfriend before the world went to shit?”

“No,” Sungjae mouths, shaking his head. “But sometimes I miss everything I won’t get to have in life.”

Changsub can’t help but frown, slightly tilting his head in confusion.

“Are we still talking about…,” he trails off, not sure where this conversation is headed, or what on earth Sungjae is going on about.

“At some point, this will be normal, but it’ll never make up for the life I could have had. Or you could have had. That any of us could have had.”

Changsub can feel the air thicken with Sungjae’s sober words, and he puts the bottle down onto the ground next to his feet without taking a sip. Carefully, quietly, eyes not once leaving Sungjae’s face.

“We’ll have to make do with what’s left,” Changsub says, eventually. “That’s just the way it is.”

Sungjae lets out a huff, clicks his tongue and looks up at him for the first time since he sat down next to him.

“You must be pissed you’re stuck with me,” Sungjae says, his voice void of emotion.

“What?"

“I know you never liked me.”

“Well, you’re the CEO’s son. No one in that entire office liked you.”

Changsub regrets the words as soon as he’s said them. They sounded meaner than he meant them to, carelessly slipping past his lips. Sungjae stays quiet, no snarky remark or roll of his eyes, and Changsub feels bad.

“I mean— I’m sure you’re nice,” he adds, helplessly. “Just not at work. And not now.”

This time, Sungjae scoffs.

“You’re not very nice either, you know.”

He leans over, grabbing the bottle from the floor before Changsub can say anything in response and empties half of it it as if his life depended on it. A few big gulps, and he hands it back to Changsub, who can do nothing but stare at him in awe, and pretend it isn’t the saddest thing he’s seen in a while. He takes the bottle, but his gaze remains glued on Sungjae, his eyes. So empty and yet it feels like all his thoughts and feelings are swimming in there, he’s open like a book, for anyone to read him if they just tried hard enough.

Changsub isn’t sure he wants to, but something inside him, in the darkest corner of his heart, can’t help but feel for Sungjae, pale skin, dark circles beneath his eyes and his heart ripped in two, the world as they knew it flipped upside down and everyone they loved gone, along with any feeling of stability or safety.

Letting out a small sigh, Changsub shifts on the couch, sitting up straight and facing Sungjae.

“Listen. I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I want us to move on and get along. So cuss me out to your heart’s content, if you need to, because I’m not gonna spend the rest of my days with a guy that hates my guts and barely talks to me. It’s exhausting, and it’s childish. Say what you need to say, and let’s just be friends. Okay?”

Sungjae’s eyes flicker down to his hands, the empty spot on the couch between Changsub and him, and up to Changsub’s face, a hint of reluctance, or doubt, in Sungjae’s gaze, but his shoulders go slack, and his features soften.

“Can I hug you?”

Changsub’s eyebrows fly up in surprise, a hug was about the last thing he expected, but he wouldn’t be able to reject Sungjae if he wanted to.

“Okay,” he says, a short nod and a moment later, Sungjae lets himself fall into Changsub’s arms. A little fast, a little awkwardly, but Changsub can’t say he minds. If anything, it’s overwhelming, Sungjae’s arms slung around his neck, the rise and fall of his chest against Changsub’s and the heat radiating off his body; it’s comfortable, but a lot to take in at once, and his emotions get the best of him. He brings out something between a chocked out laugh and a sob, because _how stupid must they look right now_ , and _Sungjae is being ridiculous_ , but Changsub doesn’t want him to let go.

Because he  _hates_  him, but he's also everything he has.


	4. When your heart is tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilhoon only comes home when Minhyuk is there.

"We need groceries, not just junk food. You’re worse than the kids.”

"I was clearly outnumbered!" Minhyuk protests, throwing his hands in the air. "Next time you convince them vegetables are cooler than chicken nuggets. I'd love to see you try."

Ilhoon lets out a small huff, rolling his eyes, and closes the fridge again, no energy left in him to even jokingly argue with Minhyuk any further. He's tired.

He rests his head against the door, and Minhyuk gets up, the chair scraping against the floor as he gets to his feet and slings his arms around Ilhoon's waist a moment later, his chest against his back and Ilhoon wants to be angry, push him off because Minhyuk doesn't deserve cuddles right now, but, as always, Minhyuk is determined to make him change his mind, his hot breath ghosting over Ilhoon's skin and a soft kiss on his neck. Ilhoon sighs. Defeated.

"You're too soft with them."

Another kiss where his neck meets his shoulder.

"I know, I know," Minhyuk mumbles, his voice toned down, a little raspy. It sends chills through Ilhoon's body. "Take this off."

He takes a step back, already pulling at the sleeves of Ilhoon's suit, and Ilhoon complies, has no choice but to, really, and lets Minhyuk slide the heavy jacket off his shoulders before he turns around, Minhyuk grabbing Ilhoon by the hips and pulling him close until there's nothing between them, their bodies perfectly aligned and their lips sealed in a tired, slow kiss.

"I'm going to fall asleep," Ilhoon murmurs against Minhyuk's lips, heavy-lidded and his words faint, drained of energy and their edges blurred. Minhyuk leans backwards, against the small kitchen table and Ilhoon follows. He rests his forehead against Minhyuk's, his eyes falling shut and their breaths mingling, and Minhyuk untucks the perfectly ironed shirt from Ilhoon’s slacks, letting his hands slip under the fabric. His skin is warm, almost hot against Ilhoon’s, gentle fingers brushing his hipbones, up his sides and following the curve down his back.

“Go get some sleep. I’m almost done with the bills.”

Ilhoon’s heart misses a beat.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, drawing back. “Was that today?”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Minhyuk says, giving a small, reassuring smile and brushing Ilhoon’s fringe out of his face. Their eyes meet, and Ilhoon doesn’t find a hint of anger in Minhyuk’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says, anyway, the guilt resting on his shoulders heavier than any suit could ever be.

“I know you’re doing your best. That’s enough.”

Ilhoon draws in a shaky breath, opening his mouth but nothing comes out, Minhyuk’s words bringing a lump to his throat and leaving him tongue-tied, unable to do anything but let the tears build up in his eyes and blur his vision. He shakes his head and buries his face in Minhyuk’s shoulder, and Minhyuk runs a soothing hand through his hair. Ilhoon thinks he deserves none of it.

“Go to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

A kiss to the top of Ilhoon’s head, and he stands up straight, hastily rubbing at his eyes and cheeks and leaving the kitchen to brush his teeth, wash his face and get undressed. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot and his head hurts, foggy from crying and all the tears he didn’t shed, but he’s managed to regulate his breathing by the time he slips under the covers in their bed, pulling the comforter up to his chin and staring into the darkness of their bedroom.

The bed dips under Minhyuk’s weight as he lies down next to Ilhoon, but it barely registers in his mind; already hazy from sleep, he only vaguely takes notice of the strong arm around his waist, the warmth wrapping around his body, Minhyuk’s nose against his temple, and his calm, even breaths so easy to follow, so easy to get lost in.


	5. Look me in the eyes (tell me what you see)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on one-liner number 41 [here](https://prompt-bank.tumblr.com/post/146902678083/drabble-challenge-1-150)

“You’re going out dressed like that?”

Ilhoon whips his head around at the familiar voice, coming face to face with about the last person he wanted to run into tonight.

"You got a problem with it?" he snarls, balling his hands into fists at his sides, and digging his fingernails into his skin as a reminder to stay calm and not let Minhyuk rile him up like they both know he can, but the complacent smirk playing around Minhyuk’s lips makes it clear he already got what he wanted.

“Didn’t think you’d be that desperate to let everybody know you’re single again,” he says, eyeing Ilhoon up from top to bottom. His gaze lingers on the rips in Ilhoon’s tight-fitted jeans for a second, the cut-outs in his lacy shirt for another, and Ilhoon’s blood starts to boil.

“Shut the fuck up, I swear to God—“

"O-kay, enough," Changsub intervenes, manoeuvring Ilhoon backwards and away from Minhyuk in an attempt to get a safe distance between them. “Sort this out another time, for God’s sake.”

“Go get drunk and ruin someone else’s evening,” Ilhoon spits, Minhyuk’s cold eyes still boring into his. “That’s all you’re good for.”

Minhyuk scoffs, the sleazy grin wiped from his face. “You’re one to talk. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were PMS-ing half the time we were together.”

Ilhoon’s hand is faster than his head, ducking Changsub and landing a sound slap to Minhyuk’s cheek. Ilhoon freezes—time stops, his heart pounding inside his chest, and a thousand little needles tickling the palm of his hand. Tears build up in Minhyuk’s eyes and blood rushes to his cheek, an imprint of Ilhoon’s hand visible on Minhyuk’s face, and Ilhoon—Ilhoon feels like shit, watching Minhyuk turn around and push his way through the crowd towards the exit, keeping his head down and disappearing out of his line of sight within seconds.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Changsub asks, bringing Ilhoon back down to earth with a disapproving frown plastered across his face.

“He was asking for it,” Ilhoon mutters in response, averting his eyes down to his trembling hands.

“Go apologise,” Changsub says. “That’s not how you treat a hyung you’ve known since high school.”

But Ilhoon stays quiet, biting his tongue to keep himself from saying anything he could regret later, and Changsub clicks his tongue and is on his way out of the club a moment later. He pushes past Ilhoon without a look back and leaves him behind, the music and the people around him slowly registering in Ilhoon’s brain again. It makes him feel sick, the adrenaline still shooting through his veins, the bass of the music vibrating in his bones and the stuffy air making it hard to breathe, to swallow past the lump in his throat. Some part of him wants to go after Changsub, to find Minhyuk and make sure he’s alright although he shouldn’t care, but any voice of reason is drowned out by the comments Minhyuk made, forever etched into Ilhoon’s brain and nagging at his conscious. Minhyuk got what he deserved, and he can go to hell.

A number of drinks later, Ilhoon actually believes his words, and breaks down in tears in Changsub’s arms.


	6. Stay with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sungjae just wants Changsub to like him. [(angstober)](https://twitter.com/jungsilhoon/status/1180770435669151744)

“Hyung,” Sungjae breathes out, drawing back as much as their position allows. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Changsub stops dead in his tracks, and Sungjae holds his breath during the silence that follows, hopes Changsub can’t hear his heart, beating so fast Sungjae could swear it’s about to jump out of his chest any second.

“What?” Changsub asks back, but the tone of his voice leaves no doubt that he knows exactly _what_ Sungjae just dared to spit out. In the middle of their first night together in two weeks. Two long, agonising weeks Sungjae spent thinking about Changsub, and Changsub probably spent thinking about the sex they’d have once they had a weekend off again. Once work no longer kept them apart.

Sungjae hadn’t realised, but those two weeks were what turned things around; for the first time since he’d started sleeping with Changsub, Sungjae had time to think until his head hurt, until his eyelids were burning from staring absentmindedly at the screen of his laptop for hours on end in the middle of the night. Until his face was puffy and he could taste his own tears on his lips.

For the first time since he started sleeping with Changsub, Sungjae realised it wasn’t what he wanted. 

“This isn’t—I think, maybe, we should, just, stop?”

“Why?”

Because Changsub’s body is _nice_ , it’s comforting and familiar, and lets Sungjae forget about everything he doesn’t have. It’s something to get lost in, to drown in until the two of them are up so high, Sungjae doesn’t dare look down to the ground. But like all things, their nights come to an end, and the high isn’t worth the fall.

“I don’t know,” Sungjae mumbles, averts his eyes to escape Changsub’s unreadable gaze. “I like this, but…”

But Sungjae doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want sex, doesn’t want to sleep with Changsub and attempt at something like small talk afterwards, just to go back to the real world like nothing happened in the end, where they are nothing but friends. Not distant, and not close either. Just friends. He doesn’t want to think about Changsub, and how much he craves his subtle, soft touches more than the sex itself the nights they’re not together.

“You couldn’t have picked a better time to bring this up?”

A small, frustrated huff and Changsub sits up between Sungjae’s legs, and Sungjae can do nothing but watch him shuffle to the edge of the bed and fish for his shirt on the floor.

“Hyung,” Sungjae croaks out, but he can’t bring himself to force the words past his lips, to tell Changsub that this isn’t what he wants, either. That he wants him to stay, to come back into his arms and pretend Sungjae didn’t ruin everything from one second to the next, pretend he never opened his mouth in the first place.

“It’s fine,” Changsub says, his voice void of any emotion. “No hard feelings.”

Sungjae wants Changsub to stop getting dressed right in front of him, and to not disappear into the hallway a moment later to put his shoes back on without a look back, his cold back like a wall between them.

Sungjae wants to say _sorry_ , to get up and go after Changsub and convince him not to leave.

Sungjae just wants Changsub to like him.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hyung,” a familiar voice called out from behind him, and Ilhoon froze in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Hyung.”

Sungjae. His voice was quiet, more serious than Ilhoon had ever heard him. He was standing right behind him now, and for a second Ilhoon just wanted to  _run_.

But he decided to stay put, against all instincts, and turned around, balling his hands into fists as he came face to face with Sungjae for the first time in weeks. He hadn’t changed a bit.

“What,” Ilhoon spat out; it was barely a question.

“Why have you been ignoring me?” Sungjae asked, and Ilhoon pretended he didn’t hear the nervous tremble in his words, like he didn’t see the tears already building up in his eyes.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Hyung, just talk to me—,” Sungjae reached out, grabbed Ilhoon’s arm in frustration, but Ilhoon pulled back as soon as he did, dislodging Sungjae’s hand again.

“Stop—,” he brought out through gritted teeth. “Why are you being so dramatic?”

A beat of silence, Ilhoon’s heart was beating in his throat, his blood pulsating in his ears. He hoped it’d be loud enough to drown out any more words Sungjae would force past his lips.

“You said you loved me,” he croaked out, eventually, and before Ilhoon could even scoff at his naivety, a sob erupted from Sungjae’s throat and he crumbled right in front of Ilhoon’s eyes, and Ilhoon could do nothing but stare into his face, distorted in pain. He couldn’t bring himself to look away anymore.

“I—I thought w—,” Sungjae hiccuped, “I thought we were together.” His chin quivering like a little child’s and endless tracks of tears down his reddened cheeks, he looked pathetic. Like someone Ilhoon should have felt sorry for. Anyone else would have. “W—Why didn’t you t—text me back?”

But Ilhoon _couldn’t_ , refused to dig up all the feelings that he’d buried, for his own sake. All the feelings he’d had for Sungjae. A life time ago, almost.

“Summer wasn’t anything serious. I thought you knew.”

Summer. It’s what he'd come to call it. All the melting hot days he’d shared with Sungjae, going to the cinema or hanging out in the park right by the apartment complex Sungjae lives in, and all the nights they’d get dinner at one of the thousand convenience stores nearby, before going home to Sungjae’s to play video games, and kiss once his parents had gone to sleep. They had set themselves a goal to play through their favourite game at least ten times before summer ended, but soon enough all they’d been thinking about was each other, and they learned to keep the TV turned on just for cover. It wasn’t what they should have been doing, Ilhoon knew very damn well, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to care.

“We did so much together,” Sungjae breathed out, “And n—now you’re pretending like you don’t even know me.”

“Well what did you expect?” Ilhoon retorted, shoving all the memories coming up back into the darkest corner of his mind with force. “That we’d go back to school as a _couple_?”

“N—No, but we—we, I thought…,” Sungjae faltered, was forced to go silent, his voice failing him this time, and he drew in a shaky breath, wiped at his cheeks with trembling hands. He averted his eyes to the street, the passing cars, the blue sky above them, in an attempt to collect himself, and Ilhoon’s irritation started to waver.

“Summer was nice, but that was then,” he said, calmer. “Things are back to normal now, but we can still be friends, and stuff. If you want. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Sungjae stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on something far, far ahead Ilhoon wouldn’t have been able to make out if he’d tried to.

“Okay?” he asked instead, and Sungjae came back to life a moment later, mouthing an inaudible _okay_ back at him. A small nod, a controlled smile that didn’t reach his bloodshot, swollen eyes, and Ilhoon watched him turn around and leave.

He didn’t know they’d never talk again.

He didn’t know he’d lost a friend.

**Author's Note:**

> accepting requests for any btob pairing/ot3/etc on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/jungsilhoon) or just leave a comment! im open to writing anything except self-inserts, ocs, het ships and crack fic!


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